Page 115 of Enslaved
“Is something the matter, Jefferson?” he asked irritably.
The servant hesitated, then informed him that his brother, Peter, was at home.
Mark was in no mood for a brotherly encounter. He was about to go through to the library when he heard what sounded like a whimper coming from upstairs.Splendor of God, has the young swine abducted Diana to force her to marry him?As he gazed up the staircase, he heard the unmistakable sobs of a woman. Mark’s fury exploded.I’ll kill him!
He took the stairs three at a time and flung open the chamber door. What he saw sickened him. A young drab was tied to the bedpost, while Peter lashed her naked flesh with his riding crop. Peter’s rampant sex shriveled as the black eyes of his hated brother swept him with contempt. The earl did not need to speak; his look said it all. He stood there until Peter untied the prostitute and she began to dress.
Mark went to his own bedchamber and locked the door so that he would not unleash his full fury. He picked up a decanter of brandy and took it with him to a leather chair. He tipped the decanter and took a deep swallow. The brandy burned all the way down and blossomed in his chest. He’d always known Peter had a dark side. The young swine was addicted to bloodsport and apparently it didn’t stop with animals.
Cynical thoughts crowded in on Mark as he again raised the crystal decanter to his lips. Did everyone have a secret, shameful side to their nature? Peter, Allegra Diana?
He kicked off his boots and unfastened his waistcoat. The whole bloody world was a cesspool.Fuck it and everybody in it!he thought cynically. He had every intention of draining the decanter and proceeded to do so.
The next morning he had a brandy hangover. He decided to skip breakfast altogether and went into the library to write some checks. When Peter strolled in, Mark grit his teeth. Nonchalance was an art with Peter.
“Don’t suppose you could spare me some blunt? The girl was well paid for her services.”
“When I burst in on you, I thought it was Diana.”
“Diana?” Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t tell me she’s taken off again? Wait a minute, do I detect another Hardwick casualty here?” He saw that Mark’s face was haggard. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Peter sat on the edge of the desk and swung a booted foot. “If it’s any consolation, I think you’ve had a lucky escape. Granted she has the beauty of a goddess, but she is completely cold. More than cold, she is a bloody ice queen. I’m not one to take no for an answer, but she always kept me at arm’s length with her touch-me-not virginity.”
In spite of the hangover, Mark suddenly felt better. He surveyed Peter with a speculative eye and changed the subject. “Did it ever occur to you toearnsome money?”
“No, never,” Peter replied with utter candor.
“I’ll give you a job either at the stone quarry or on one of the barges I own.”
Peter’s lips curled. “My brother, the reformer. No thanks, your lordship. I’m engaged at Almack’s tonight, dancing attendance on Lady Edwina Farnsworth-Peniston, heiress to Peniston Railway. And you thought I wasted all my time whoring and gambling.”
When Peter left, Mark was convinced his brother had no further interest in Diana. His day stretched ahead of him endlessly. Other than tailing Richard Davenport, no brilliant ideas occurred to him. He had been convinced her guardians knew of her whereabouts. Now, however, he wasn’t so sure. What if Diana had simply decided to leave? She was a feisty young beauty who could assuredly survive until she came of age. Then she’d come sailing back, scoop up her inheritance, and thumb her nose at the world.
The ache in his heart was almost unendurable. He ruthlessly ignored it and picked up the morningTimes.His eye caught the write-up of an archaeological find. Some massive stone walls, thought to be Roman in origin, had been discovered beneath the cellars of Bush Lane, off Cannon Street. He went immediately to investigate. Many of his friends from the London Archaeological Society were there. It was one of the most exciting finds ever discovered.
But Mark found that, without Diana to share it with, the whole afternoon felt flat and almost pointless. The earl stayed in London three more days. He followed Richard Davenport each and every time he set foot outside Grosvenor Square. The solicitor visited his law office during the day and a Mayfair brothel in the evening. Finally, Mark Hardwick accepted the hard fact that Davenport would not lead him to Diana. On the fourth day, with all hope gone, the earl returned to Bath.
Diana lay on the cot, her eyes fixed on the high barred window. Freedom, it was almost as necessary as air. The idle hours crawled by sluggishly, making the days interminable and the nights endless. She thought dully that if she hadn’t been mad when she arrived, she may well be raving mad before she ever got to leave.
Diana begged her attendants for some sort of work, hoping she would be taken to the kitchens or elsewhere, but they ignored her pleas. She asked for something to read, but it was like talking to the walls and she was wearied of doing that. She began to live inside her own mind, until it became realer than her actual surroundings. Often she was back with Marcus in Aquae Sulis, but more frequently she daydreamed of Mark and the lovely Georgian town of Bath.
Diana had no idea how long she had been confined. At one point she made marks on the wall with her spoon, until it occurred to her that she was veritably sticking her spoon in the wall. Because they dosed her food, she ate very little. She became thin and pale and listless, but deep down she clung on to hope. Without hope she feared she would die.
Mark would come. She loved him more now than she ever had before. He was her dream lover; he would be her salvation. She closed her eyes and drifted into sleep, floating from dream to dream, from caress to kiss, always longing to awaken and find herself safe in his powerful arms. But it never, ever happened that way.
Diana had fallen into a trancelike state, and then suddenly, one day, she began to vomit. When she was still vomiting on the third day in a row, her attendants informed Dr. Bognor.
He was alarmed. The drugs they were putting in her food to sedate her must have been poisoning her system. He had seen it before in small women. He ordered all dosing be stopped immediately. Bognor knew her guardians would care little about the girl’s death, but he would have to answer to the Wiltshire County Board of Councillors and the coroner.
Gradually, Diana’s stomach settled down until she vomited only occasionally. She could tell that they had stopped drugging her food and her appetite increased. Though she was no longer getting sick, she was still assailed by nausea each morning and a dreaded suspicion began to gnaw at her.
Chapter 36
Mark Hardwick’s answer to worry and frustration was work. As the Earl of Bath, he headed the Bathonian Corporation, which was made up of the mayor and aldermen as well as attorneys, physicians, brewers, vintners, saddlers, and shopkeepers. They had hired a surveyor, Thomas Baldwin, to draw up plans to clear a congested area for better access and build five new streets. The plans called for an appropriately named Union Street to join the upper and lower town by demolishing the Bear Inn. The plans also included a proposal to rebuild the Great Pump Room.
Mark Hardwick gave final approval to the plans and loaned the corporation twenty-five thousand pounds to get the work started. Now all he had to do was persuade Bath’s wealthy patrons and patronesses thatcity bondswere a safe investment. His days were filled with business, but his nights were filled with emptiness. The hours stretched out endlessly, keeping pace with his sleeplessness.
His magnificent Elizabethan bedchamber, where a queen had once slept, now only evoked the memory of one woman, Lady Diana Davenport. Just as flowers left some of their fragrance in the hand that bestowed them, Diana had left a trace of herself upon the very air he breathed. His thoughts were filled with her; his memories only went as far back as the day he’d met her.
